LORENZO DOW AND THE COBBLER.
LORENZO DOW, an eccentric circuit preacher, lives in tradition chiefly for his oddities; but he was a man of strong character, who loved the souls of men. His sermons and his ways of doing good were peculiarly his own, but they were often surprisingly effectual—not merely because he was singular, but because he was sincere. An aged lady whose father’s large farmhouse was one of Mr. Dow’s favorite stopping-places, related some years ago the following story of him from her earliest recollections: One winter afternoon my father overtook the eccentric preacher on his way to fulfil an engagement, and took him into his wagon. “I am glad to ride,” said Dow, “for one of my boots has sprung a leak.” As they went on, my father suggested a way to repair the damage. “A cobbler lives in that little red house yonder,” he said. “He is poor, lame, crabbed, and cross, but a good workman.” “Just the place for me,” said Dow, jumping off, and going into the little shop. He sat down silently in front of a few brands smoldering upon the hearth, and, pulling off his boot, handed it to the cobbler. The man looked at the leak, and swore. “I am afraid you are not a Christian, my man,” said Dow, quietly. “There are no Christians,” retorted the cobbler. “There are plenty who pretend to be;” and he waxed his thread with an angry jerk, which seemed to emphasize what he said.11 “Your room is so cold that your wax is hard. Shall I put more wood on your fire?” “I work to keep warm,” was the shoemaker's curt reply, as he pushed a last into the boot and adjusted his clamp. “I've little enough wood cut, and no one to cut more, and this lame leg won't allow me to do it myself.” Dow removed his long-caped cloak, put his bootless foot into an old shoe lying near, and going out to the shed, found an ax and went to work. Before the boot was ready, he had split and carried in all the wood in the shed, piled it neatly in a corner, and made a blazing fire of the chips. When the boot was done, he put it on, paid for the work, and, taking his cloak, said, "Thank you, my friend; you have proved yourself 'a workman that needeth not to be ashamed.'" The reply came this time with real civility, "I'm much obliged to you. I shouldn't wonder if there are some Christians in the world—and you are one of 'em." "I try to be one; good-by;" and Dow was off, leaving the astonished cobbler saying to himself: "Well, if he's tryin', he don't take it all out in talk. He never preached at me so much as a word." That evening, Dow, who often picked up his text on the way to meeting, spoke from the words that had come to him in the shop—2 Tim. 2:15: "Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed." He had a large audience, and he preached practical religion to them, enforcing in his original way the truth that everywhere there were poor and unfortunate people for Christians to look after, and this work must be done if we expect the world to believe in our Christianity. Dow spent that night with us, and the next morning one of my father's teams left a load of wood at the lame cobbler's door. Passing the shop on his way to his next appointment, Dow looked in, and said: "Good morning, my friend, I would saw this wood for you, but there are duties awaiting me further on. I think there must be Christians enough in this community to look after a useful citizen like you." Before the cobbler had recovered from his astonishment at being called a "useful citizen," two or three schoolboys came to have little jobs of cobbling done; and while they waited, they acted on the hint given by Dow in his sermon, and worked at the woodpile. From that time on, little kindnesses done to the cobbler became so common that he quite lost his crabbed temper; his neighbors gave him no use for it. "Everybody seems to be helping me," he said. "If I'm 'a useful citizen' I ought to be ashamed not to help somebody myself." The next time Dow came to our neighborhood he was told, "The cobbler has given up his cider and pipe; he sings hymns instead of foolish songs, and reads the Bible to a blind neighbor." Dow replied: "A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump—and a good example goes a great way." Whatever Lorenzo Dow's singularities were, he understood the religion of the New Testament. He knew that a Christian is at his best only when he makes himself an object-lesson of his doctrine.—Christian Advocate.